


Candles and moonlight

by sandcities



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Hogwarts Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2019-01-16 23:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandcities/pseuds/sandcities
Summary: Moonlight suited Pansy. Her dark hair and pale face were haunted and ethereal. Hermione wondered what the moolight did to her, whether it caressed in this way all girls broken before they were even nineteen.Pansy turned to look back at Hermione, and they both must have seen the same thing in each others faces because without saying anything they moved closer together.





	Candles and moonlight

It was 4 in the morning and Pansy parkinson was crying silently. From a distance, her expression was almost neutral, so when Hermione glanced over, it came as a jolt to the stomach when she saw the tears reflecting the light from the lamps. Hermione was perpetually irritated that Hogwarts insisted on candles to light the library, of all places, but now she was grateful for the dim light; so Pansy wouldn't catch her looking, and also (she admitted to herself) because Pansy looked poetically beautiful lit by shadows and fire. Her trademark winged eyeliner and her aristocratic cheekbones made strange, otherworldly shapes.

Hermione agonised quietly, her eyes focused back on her own book (another on magical theory, she had decided to read the library's entire section by the end of the year). She knew she ought to go and comfort Pansy in some way, but she also knew that Pansy would rather die than have someone see her like this. (Unconsciously Hermione wondered whether Pansy chose that table on purpose, perhaps to be near her. She ignored herself.)

She got up, of course. She had been trying to leave old predjuces behind since the start of eighth year and that involved making a conscious effort to talk civilly to Pansy and draco and the others. (She knew, in the back of her mind, that with Pansy it wasn't like that any more, she had other reasons to keep seeking her out and including her.) They were almost friends now, almost close enough for Hermione to see the emptiness in Pansy's dark eyes when they spoke, now that Hermione's own eyes weren't clouded by rage. 

And Hermione knew what was most important; she had known at eleven years old: friendship and bravery. That was what made her a Gryffindor. Hermione walked over to Pansy's table and sat opposite her. Pansy didn't snap or run or even hide her face, she just looked at Hermione and let her see what she was feeling, who she was now. Hermione reached out and placed her hand over the top of Pansy's. Pansy didn't pull hers away.

They both left to go back to the dorms at 5, so they wouldn't have to wake up in the library with stiff necks and yesterday's clothes.

**

Pansy usually played it cool when Hermione invited her to those parties, all "sure, whatever" as she accepted the invitations, but the way she danced at the party the next night belied her causal indifference. She danced like she had nothing but her body left and Hermione couldn't take her eyes off her.

Hermione sat in a chair at the edge of the room, a drink in one hand, talking to Ron as Harry stared vacantly at Draco. She wondered if ron was over her yet; she felt the weight of his last confession and hoped that some day he would find someone who saw how good he was and treaured him. She just couldn't be that someone.

Ron got up and went to talk to someone else, and Hermione's eyes strayed back to Pansy, who looked straight at her. Pansy was flushed and unsteady now, and dangerously drunk, but hermione held her gaze. (She was dangerously drunk too, probably. That's what it felt like). She saw a challenge in the look pansy was giving her, and it was a tug to the gut that made Hermione abandon caution and good sense. The defiant tilt to Hermione's chin said, "Fuck me up, Parkinson." Maybe Hermione was more than a little empty too. She downed the last of her drink.

Pansy stalked towards Hermione and planted her hands on each arm of the chair. Her face was inches from Hermiones. Then Pansy abruptly turned around and sat on Hermione's lap, grinding her arse against Hermione. Hermiones brain stopped functioning altogether then, and Pansy turned again and moved closer to her, her legs either side of her pinning Hermione to her seat. Pansy's crop top displayed her belly button percing, a fact Hermione had been very much aware of from the moment Pansy entered the room, but now she was faced with an even greater awareness of how it hugged Pansy's breasts, which were currently level with Hermione's face. 

Hermione finally regained enough brain function to move her hands to touch Pansy's back, a little desperately, then moved her hands down to cup Pansy's arse and push her closer. Pansy groaned, then abruptly stood up and walked away, winking over her shoulder at a dazed Hermione.

They didn't mention it the next day, or the next, and Hermione couldn't be sure if Pansy remembered it, or if it had even really happened.

Hermione was allowed out of bed at night. Driven by insomnia and something like fear, she patrolled the corridors, now silent but for her footsteps. This place was her home now, whatever she had said to herself when she left her parents behind on the platform when she was 11. These eerie, familiar hallways held pieces of her that she was sure would never live anywhere else. 

When she came across the shape of a girl standing absolutely still by a window, Hermione first assumed a ghost or a memory before her gut and then her mind kicked in: Pansy. 

"You should be in bed," Hermione said, gently, when she reached her. 

"So should you, " Pansy said, laying on the irony. Hermione didn't reply, instead standing shoulder to shoulder with Pansy and following her gaze over the lake where the ripples and splashes of the giant squid, silent from up here, were covered in moonlight. 

Moonlight suited Pansy. Her dark hair and pale face were haunted and ethereal. Hermione wondered what the moolight did to her, whether it caressed in this way all girls broken before they were even nineteen.

Pansy turned to look back at Hermione, and they both must have seen the same thing in each others faces because without saying anything they moved closer together. Tentatively, Hermione placed her arms around Pansy's small frame. She raised a hand to stroke Pansy's hair, and then Pansy was standing on tiptoe and lifting her face towards Hermione's. Their lips touched, so gently it might have been just breath.

Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her lips closer. As though brought to life, Pansy moved her lips against Hermione's, at first slow but quickly more insistent. Pansy reached up to tangle her fingers in Hermione's hair, and slipped her tongue between Hermione's lips. Hermione's tongue met Pansy's, touching again and again, until her whole world was warm and melting. They searched each other for whatever it was that they had lost.

After a few moments, Hermione pulled back for breath.

"We should talk about this," she said.

"No, we shouldn't," Pansy murmered, then kissed her again.


End file.
